


monochromatic melody

by GalaxyGhosty



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: ? - Freeform, Color Blindness, Developing Relationship, Introspection, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Slice of Life, Speech Disorders, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 18:26:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15846882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGhosty/pseuds/GalaxyGhosty
Summary: Dark has trouble talking. Anti has trouble seeing. They work well, like that.





	monochromatic melody

**Author's Note:**

  * For [egotisticalee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/egotisticalee/gifts).



> A super super late birthday gift for the outstanding and absolutely lovely egotisticalee! I recently had the pleasure of making friends with them and they singlehandedly reminded me of how much I love Danti :')
> 
> I really wanted to get this out sooner but unfortunately classes started over at college, so I've been sorta cramming and making sure everything is smooth sailing for the rest of the semester. 
> 
> Not overly happy with this--I feel like it's a little janky and awkward but it was written in what I can only describe as a haze--so it is what it is. Maybe it's poetic? You can let me know.
> 
> Also I by no means am meaning to offend anyone with Anti's sort of color blindness and Dark's speech problem. It is by no way mirroring real disorders and is purely fictitious for the point of this story. 
> 
> Anyway, Lee, thank you for being you!! Hope you enjoy it ❤❤

Dark has trouble talking. Anti has trouble seeing. They work well, like that.

Anti absolutely hated him when he first met him—Dark looks the sort of person to be all posh, high and mighty and snarky, the vibe and energy of a right bitch. Anti can't be bothered to deal with those sorts of people, unless he's harassing them, and that's exactly what he'd done, when he first met him. 

He'd tried to be all intimidating, giving off a large “Big and Bad Brooding Vampire” air, and Anti hadn't wanted any of it. Anti works hard for his fucking kills, and he would be damned before he let anyone just steal them, sexy as hell or not. 

Yeah, he'd always thought Dark was attractive. That wasn't in dispute at all. But Anti could definitely find someone aesthetically pleasing and still want to gut them like a worthless fish. 

And he'd tried that, too. 

The thing about Dark is that he's _good_. He's good at what he does. He's all hard lines and lean muscle, larger in frame, more sharp angles and pronounced bones. He looks like the kind of fellow that could snap Anti in half, were he a weaker demon. He manipulates energy in a way that he's never seen anyone else do—cracking reality, distorting it, almost a form of mimicry. He has a teleportation power, some sort of looping, very different from Anti's glitching ability. 

It'd been the first time he'd had a good fucking fight, his first go with Dark. He's strong, and Anti had not-so-ashamedly gotten off a little on the thrill of the potential of being beaten. 

Of course, Dark could never _really_ beat him. His fancy powers allotted him a certain edge, but never enough to fully overwhelm him. At best, they could end in a draw, because Anti never gives up, and would never give up until Dark killed him, which Dark couldn't be bothered to do.

That's how they ended up working together. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em, and all that nonsense. 

Right after one of their harrowing brawls, Dark had offered him a look, raised eyes and delicate smile, intrigued, curious. He'd opened his mouth in that way that Anti knew the question before it had ever been asked, and with an outstretched hand, it was like a deal, one that they couldn't walk away from.

That was then, this is now. 

And Dark's playing the piano again, because that's what he does.

Dark has trouble speaking. He's not mute, not entirely—his voice working in sporadic bursts. It has something to do with his neck having been broken long ago, emanating in a deep rumble whenever he musters up the energy. Sometimes he projects his voice into Anti's head, another gift from his distortion ability, but most often he communicates with Anti with _looks_ and sneers, which Anti understands well. Dark had signed to him in the beginning, hands flying at wild intervals that Anti couldn't understand, and after a while Dark had given up. 

On the side, Anti had his old friend JJ teach him rudimentary lessons so he could at least piece it together. 

Anti, on the other hand, has problem seeing. Most specifically, color. Anti sees the world in a static, fizzles of green and blue and red, the occasional yellow, but mostly black and white. It's an unfortunate side effect of being a glitch demon—he's got amazing talents but at the price of being able to see like a normal fucking thing. He knows some scenery and painting and everything are beautiful, but can't really...appreciate it. He can't appreciate the fireworks Marvin makes or the colors on the TV that Jackie stars on. 

It is what it is. But Dark? He sees Dark in...so many colors. 

Various shades of red and blue and black, vibrant, alive. He's beautiful, in a way that Anti has never been able to properly appreciate before.

And Dark knows. Anti doesn't tell him often, because Anti's not a sentimental fool, even if he likes Dark quite a lot. 

So Dark does a thing, when he's feeling restless. Not when he's in a bad mood, because he breaks stuff when he's in a bad mood. But when he's got a lot of pent up energy that he can't get rid of, or if he's got a lot in his head, he plays the piano. 

Anti's learned how to read whatever he's saying in the harmonic notes. 

The melody rolls through the apartment complex like a bad dream, a haunting, discordant sound that can't be ignored, but can't continuously be listened to. Anti steps into the doorway, finding his darkened form looming over the piano keys. His greyish fingers dance along, a fervent gesture that Anti is certain a mortal man would not be able to play.

Whatever holds Dark together trembles, the reds and blues of his form breaking off into that familiar static. Anti can't see him well, right now, he never can when Dark's emotions, however he tries to hide them, fluctuate in and out. His shoulders tense, chin low, wrists bent at an angle. His dress shirt's been pushed up, not rolled up in a neat and pressed way as it usually is. His hair is out of place, the silhouette of it at odds. 

That shell cracks, briefly. Anti watches the polygons disperse, and move back together. 

_Hate._

_H a t e_

_R e v e n g e_

_F o rgive_

_Forgotten._

_Lonely_

_L o n e l y_

_L O N E L Y_

_L̞̖̟̺͓͕ͅ ͖̜͞ͅO̧̬̞̥̠̱̞ ̭̩N̻̙͙ ̩̕E̴͎̼̖̦ ̡̜L͙̬̲͎̭̟ ̻̺̘Y͖_

Anti steps into the room, steps careful, and measured. The rest of the room is a muted black, an indicator that Dark's shadows lurk around everywhere, ready to whip out and protect him at any given moment. If he startles him even a bit, Anti's gonna have to hide for a while to heal up. 

The piano melody gets faster, more desperate, more angry, lost and confused and so utterly broken. Dark's a broken mirror, Anti thinks. Shattered bits of something beautiful. 

When he gets close enough, he doesn't touch, only whispers. “ _Nox_.”

The tune screeches to a halt. Anyone could call him Dark, because that's what he goes by, and what he's most used to hearing. Sometimes he still answers to _Damien_ , if someone says it, and on rarer occasions still, _Celine_. But only Anti ever calls him Nox, in secret. Because Dark is many things, but to Anti, he's the night. Eternal, complete, and comforting.

Dark's grey fingers ghost over the keys. He says nothing, but the air changes, and Anti knows he's listening. 

Carefully, Anti reaches out, touching the back of Dark's neck, minding not to step on his suit jacket laying close behind him. The other makes no movement away, so Anti continues. “You're okay.”

And he's never—he's never been great at the whole comforting thing. He can hardly handle his own outbursts, let alone Dark's. But sometimes, Dark just sort of needs the attempt more than the actions themselves. 

His colors twist, the static emanating from him wrapping around his wrist, a mute sign. Anti shakes his head.

“When have I ever,” he says lowly, “left you on your own?” 

Dark plays a single note, stagnant and cold.

Anti huffs. “Don't play music at me in that tone of voice.” 

The color recedes, and Dark finally turns to look at him. He can see the vague lines of Dark's face, encompassed by the obscurity of his vision. He can still, however, make out the lines of a raised brow.

“Don't look at me in that tone of voice, either,” Anti drawls at him. Dark plays another note, petulant, petty. “Brat.” 

A softer, more sarcastic note, as though to say, _you're the brat._

Ignoring his attempts at diversion, Anti leans a little bit of weight onto him. “Whatever you think, Dark, I'm not going anywhere. So you play this piano all you want like an edgy little teenager, but just know that you will never be alone again.” 

Dark lets out a little sound, perhaps a scoff, but content all the same. Anti removes his hand, making a show of dusting off the spot, ignoring the eye roll he _feels_ rather than sees. 

He considers pressing his lips to the side of Dark's head, but decides against it. Now's not a good time for it, and neither he or Dark are the sentimental type. The only person Anti has ever seen Dark tender with is Warfstache, and that's mostly because they've got a history he isn't aware of. 

But they know how they feel for one another. Anti's sure of that, at least. There will be time to talk about that later, though, when Dark's not bursting at the seams.

Anti steps away, but before he can back up completely, Dark's voice echoes in the room, crackled and low. “Thank you, Anti.” 

Then, the melody picks back up, calmer, quieter, and Anti smiles.

Yeah, they know.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me over at [my tumblr!](http://voidskelly.tumblr.com)


End file.
